By Tanania Reid
At age eight, Adam Freedman, bounded by pornography ‘died’ in plain view of all
Adam was lying on the floor when the yellow, rectangular aeroplane whirred past above him. Another craft violently flew into its body, leading to a massive, yet miniature explosion. The two cuboids clicked against each other at contact as Adam played with his blocks, his utters and lips making their sounds.
Having fun with his toys on a Sunday evening was regular for the eight-year-old. An only child, and having no siblings to keep him entertained, Adam sought fun in his toys, his ball and his cars, and his tablet.
The tablet…where had he flung it the last time his mom nearly caught him?
Adam rolled over onto his tummy and rose to search for it. The tiny living room appeared vast; even more so since Mommy had earlier cleared and wiped the floor. Groaning at the thought of having to locate it, Adam looked through his toy box under the what-not, to no avail. He swung upside down to dig between the two floral-patterned armchairs mid-living room. Finding his treasure, he took it up, plopped into one of the sofas, and pressed its on-button.
Adam wasted no time opening YouTube. He scrolled down mindlessly, scanning the recommendations on videos to watch. Much like his friends and the ‘guys in his class,’ with whom he’d discuss the game, Minecraft and anime were Adam’s present avid obsessions. He scrolled past video thumbnails for a few minutes, his leg lazily sprawled onto the chair’s arm. He was acquainted with silence, and familiar with being alone.
After scrolling for around half a minute, a thumbnail caught Adam’s eye– a picture of a green-sweatered Minecraft character with a pixelated pickaxe in hand. It had a theme of action and adventure, promising in its title to be a comedic animated film with a riveting story-line. Excited, Adam tapped the video.
In that moment, a figure crept through the “white gate,” backlit by the moon. It was shapely. Round. In the appearance of flesh, but inhumane. A woman, but devouring.
The “No trespassing” sign dangled and fell from the “white gate” as it creaked closed. The front yard was dark. The wind rustled the leaves of the mango tree as the visitor loomed across the front yard, up the veranda steps, and hovered, hunched, at the front door. The sound of its giggles echoed throughout the yard. Suddenly, the door opened to a small, wide-eyed boy, frozen. Adam.
Adam looked up at the woman beckoning him; he was the beaming picture of innocence. She smiled sultrily. She hushed him, slipped by him, and pressed the door shut. Suddenly, screams filled the living room.
***
At approximately 8 p.m., Sashana Freedman turned the key to her front door, opened it, and stepped into her abode. Bending slightly, she removed her battered brown leather shoes, her keys jingling on their ring in the process. Rising with a grimace at the pain in her arms, which were balancing her handbag and two packages of groceries, she trudged to the kitchen and practically threw her belongings onto the counter.
“Jesus, ah tyad. Adam!” she called, walking back to the empty living room. It was silent. A bout of uneasiness and perplexion rose within her. Adam was always watching television upon her arrival; he always ran to greet her. Why was the television off? And all the lights?
“Adam?”
Sashana briskly walked down the short hall to Adam’s bedroom and opened the door. The light from the hallway flooded in, the darkness politely standing aside. She threw the sheets off the bulky figure beneath: pillows.
“ADAM!”
Sashana rushed through the hallway, chest heaving. She yanked the front door open and ran into the yard.
“ADAM!!”
Her voice shook slightly – agitation cracked her composure.
“ADAM!!!”
A dog howled in the street. The stones pressed into Sashana’s bare feet. The wind rustled the leaves of the mango tree by their zinc fence. The only light that shone in the yard was that of the moon, revealing the fear in the sides and highlights of her ebony face. Panic gripped her chest.
“JESUS! Mi pickney!”
Trembling, Sashana dashed into the house, searching frantically everywhere for her eight-year-old son.
“Adam!” Her voice was a broken whisper.
After a minute of searching, Sashana lifted the floral-patterned coverings of her sofa to reveal the gap between them. Sitting in a ball, the tablet hidden by his side, was a trembling child whose ebony skin resembled her own.
“Likkle pikney, coom oht! Yuh neva hear mi a call yuh?” She pulled him out by the shoulder and embraced him. “Weh yah do dung yasso, Adam? Eeh? Why yuh neva ansa mi?”
As the mother scolded and consoled her child, the tablet lay behind him, the screen in an off position.
Adam’s mother would have cried in grief over her son’s body had she not been oblivious to his “passing.” In her eyes, the child was breathing, but Adam Freedman, innocent as she knew him, had died.
For years, Adam’s death remained hidden. Every night following that day, the sultry figure would visit him. It was, it became – routine. She would knock and await entry through his now darkened gate. Adam would become excited and anticipative. He would open the door for her. She would smile, and slip in. And then, there would be screams. Groans. Sighs. Afterward would ensue a moment of silence, and after that, a man’s sobs under the moonlight by the window.
Every night, Adam was left empty, abandoned, alone, and ashamed. Adam Freedman pitied himself. He was chained to the screen before him. Every night, Adam played and replayed the death of his freedom.
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Tanania Reid is 18 years old and is on the cusp of leaving High School. She’s been saved since 2020 and is a member of her church’s evangelism ministry, youth ministry, and most recently, the women’s ministry, since, as she says, “I’m now an adult!”
Tanania describes herself as having a voracious appetite for knowledge, so she reads the Word of God extensively and relies on the Holy Spirit to unravel its meaning for her.
Contact Tanania at kingdomambassadorsja@gmail.com, 876-873-3280 or 876-329-3542.